


Old World Flag

by wastelandbabyx



Category: Fallout - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Fluff, I’ll never stop being bad at tags, Love, love stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:09:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24401086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wastelandbabyx/pseuds/wastelandbabyx
Summary: Another piece written for Murcx04, for her OC Evelyn and Ulysses.
Relationships: Ulysses/OC
Comments: 3
Kudos: 4





	Old World Flag

**Author's Note:**

  * For [murcx04](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=murcx04).



_He had long ago claimed that history had saved him.  
_

_The flag he wore on his jacket, recognized by the inhabitants there as he walked through the valley of death, like a beacon of hope._

__

__

_Or perhaps a reminder._

——

He was back in the Divide, overlooking valleys and canyons, and the ghosts that lingered in between. The irony never lost on him how dreams and recollections would always pull him back to history that refused to be laid to rest. Always bubbling just beneath the surface. _The America of old._

Here, he was never alone. The Mojave’s courier six always seemed to make certain of that. Always subtle in her ways, sometimes appearing as a brush of wind across his cheek, or a lingering chill down his spine. She was bound to be his own personal perdition, even after he had been the one to do onto her in the prologue.

_”Shame you never visit more often. This place gets lonesome after time, and dead men don’t make for good conversation.”_

Her ghostly figure lingered against fallen canyon wreckage, golden curls swaying in the wind against a pale and bloodied visade. Hazel hues danced behind daggers, and black lips curled into a daunting smile. A curling serpent, just before it strikes. Something not to be trusted, even in his subconscious. Red flags went off in his mind like red flares flying, and a primal instinct was begging to run from the spirit woman. 

_Larger than the Bear, greater than the Bull._

“I see you still have lives in you. Always were hard to kill.” 

Ulysses spoke low, but his gaze hard as he took her in. He mentioned only of truth. Storm, bullets, sand and wind, yet still she prevailed on. Even here, even now. 

The laughter that came after would’ve been almost melodic, if it hadn’t been so haunting. Flipping a translucent hand through her golden strands, the Mojave ghost turned, disappearing along with windswept sand. Uninterested in entertaining, or perhaps tormenting, him further. But not before her words left him strangling by a serpent’s noose. 

_”You can go home, courier.”_

——

He woke up in a startle, his hands grasping at air, only to come up empty. Save for the two headed Brahmin who’d been staring over him, chewing it’s cud, and looking rather disinterested. A gentle sigh, and a palm pulled down across the plane of his face, Ulysses had to remind himself that he was no longer in the Divide. Nor was he faced with the ghost of courier six. He was instead in the stable adjacent to his homestead, whom he shared with his beloved. _Evelyn._

It seemed his work under the relenting Mojave warmth had gotten the better of him. So focused on working with pride, he’d worked himself as a fool instead. Knowing how Evelyn would fret in her own loving way, he found himself appreciative that it hadn’t been _her_ who’d found him in such a ludicrous state. However, he now found himself itching to calm the stirred thoughts traveling through his mind like erupting fissures. 

Gazing down at the straw that adorned the stable floor, he recalled the dolls the Twisted Hairs would often make for their children. Always having been resourceful, they’d use dry corn husks to braid and shape faceless, but intricate little dolls. It was silly almost, yet he had the strongest urge to make one for Evelyn. Running his hand across the straw, he noted how it had the familiar feel of corn husk against his skin. 

He decided then he’d get to work. Gathering straw into the palm of his hand, turning his focus onto softer reflections, like his little songbird. His own shining beacon in the darkness, and the hand that had pulled him from the depths of his metaphorical grave. 

_”I hate to ask this of you, Ulysses.. But I’m going to need the house to myself for a bit.”_

_Ulysses looked up from the pre-war book he had splayed open across his lap, watching instead as Evelyn worked at the wrinkles of her dress with the flat of her palms. A nervous fidget she could never quite get over. His silence seemed to have finally prompted her to meet his gaze, and he watched as her cheeks flushed pink, looking as if she’d been caught doing something unsavory._

_“It’s nothing bad! I’m just.. I’m working on a surprise for you.”_

He didn’t know what he could have ever done to deserve someone by the likes of her. Not in this life, nor in past. Even from the depths of his subconscious, the courier six would show, just to warn him of his many _misdeeds_ , and how she’d easily become another should he not tread carefully. 

Evelyn had opened his eyes to a new world, one not just seen through rose colored glasses. Instead of loathing, he had adored her for it. Now if only he could give her more than just old world history, or a makeshift corn husk doll.. 

“Ulysses?” 

Evelyn’s gentle voice trailed in from the stable doors, just as he’d finished braiding the doll’s left string of hair. He tucked the gift into the inside of his coat, careful not to give away the little surprise. She stood, ever so patient, as he walked over. His arms enveloping her small frame once he reached her, relishing in the way she nuzzled into the crook of his shoulder. It was as if they’d been sculpted as one; two pieces that fit so impeccably. 

“It’s finished. Would you like to come see?” 

“Of course.” 

——

_“Keep your eyes closed.”_

He felt a little foolish, like a child. His hands folded over his eyes, reassuring Evelyn once again that he _‘wouldn’t peek’_. A trail of soft laughter followed her somewhere further into their little home, until she finally returned. Ulysses listened, noting her footsteps as they approached, until an unfamiliar weight was hesitantly placed onto his lap. 

Gentle hands, although a little unsteady, moved to pull his hands, though he chose to meet her gaze first. She held his for a moment longer before giving a soft smile, taking a step away — giving him space. As he shifted his gaze downwards, he finally understood. 

The Old World Flag. Delivered to him with tentative hands like that of an notifier. A final message, or perhaps.. a reminder. 

Running his palms across the fabric of old, it was hard to place the onslaught of emotions. This was something he never thought he’d see with his own eyes once again; much less hold between his two hands. Across from him, Evelyn watched quietly. Always so patient, and understanding. Something someone must’ve had in them to do work such as this.. 

Long ago, Ulysses had stood at in the Divide. Evelyn by his side, and tales of Old World history upon his tongue. He had told her, with what remained of the Old World flag between his hands, that the day he’d set it down would either be over his own body, or over a nation he believed in. 

The remnants had been a testament to both it’s, and his survival. Proof that history would not go quietly — and now, it laid completely intact, in all it’s glory, upon him. 

“I.. I hope it’s alright.” 

Always in a rush to appease him, as if he’d really ever be unsettled with her. His umber colored hues raised to meet her baby blues, extending an hand; beckoning to her. As she stepped closer, taking seat next to him, he gently pulled her into his embrace. 

He had taken no notice of the wetness that had sprung to the corner of his eyes, until brushing against her golden locks. It surprised him, in ways. If they had been outside, he may have mistaken it for the sky simply opening up above them. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d ever wept, and for the first time in a long time, words were lost on him. 

Regardless, he felt as though even if he could find the right thing to say, that there just wouldn’t be enough words in the entirety of the english language to ever express his gratitude for such a gesture. So instead, as he pulled back from the embrace, he produced the doll he’d made earlier upon his awaking, tucked away until a moment such as this. However, it now seemed so insignificant in comparison. But still, Evelyn’s eyes shone like he’d just handed her the world on a silver platter. 

Her hands, so steady and sure now, caressed his own before enveloping the doll, pulling it in close to examine the finer details of the twists and ties. Her fingertips trailed along the braided hair like she was tracing scripture, and her eyes had begun to prick with tears. Though her smile left no room for doubt of how much she adored the little thing.

“Oh, Ulysses it’s absolutely darling! I love it.” 

She turned to smile at the courier, tears now slipping down her cheeks like a trickling river as she pressed the doll to her chest. In that moment, Ulysses knew he’d found his way to truly express his appreciation. Both of _her_ , and everything she continued to do for him. Something so simple, yet still grandiose. 

The words swelled in his chest like a cup that had runneth over — something he could barely contain. Something holding meaning beyond himself, the Divide, and even the Old World flag.  
_Her._

“..and I love _you_.”


End file.
